


Casualty

by Elvishdork



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casualty Of War, Gen, MC with She/Her Pronouns, Mild Gore, No beta we die like lilith, magic use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvishdork/pseuds/Elvishdork
Summary: The three realms are at war.  It's decided that sealing the human realm off from the other two is the best way to protect it.  Solomon and his apprentice are the best people for the job of destroying the portals.  But nothing ever goes like it's supposed to.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Casualty

**Author's Note:**

> Plot Set Up: The three realms are at war. Solomon, the self appointed guardian of humanity, and his apprentice get caught in the middle. They both have ties to all three realms as human souls with pacts with the Devildom and friendships with the Celestials. But nothing saves them the pain of being caught between it all when humanity starts to pick sides.
> 
> The last time the Celestial Realm and the Devildom went to war proper, Diavolo’s father was still awake and there to stand at the head of the war room. The last time the two realms had been at war the now seven rulers of the Devildom were angels themselves.
> 
> The human realm is fragile. It can’t weather the forces of the other two realms for long. Humanity isn’t made for that kind of exposure. The last time the human realm was the battlefield of the other two, well...Atlantis is a great example of what happens. Leviathan remembers that casualty of war well.
> 
> It’s a difficult decision, but sealing off the human realm from the other two realms might be the one thing that will ensure their survival of the conflict. It might be the only thing that saves humanity from being sent back to the stone age.

The sun was going to kill her. She was sure of it. She'd burst into flames right there before setting foot in the fucking temple, like some kind of divine punishment for her soon-to-be tresspass. 

Every bone and joint protested as she hauled herself and her bag of explosives up toward the old ruins. The temple was erected over one of the original portals to the Celestial Realm. It is a heritage site of Celestial influence in the mortal realm; and one that just happened to withstand her power before she got it under control with the ring. It’d be a shame she’s about to desecrate it, if it weren’t for the war and fragile humanity’s future hingin on this place’s destruction. 

However, it’s ancient significance also meant it wasn’t on any major road and required a hike to reach. She still hasn’t mastered summoning or teleportation spells yet. So that left her with a stupid hike to complete.

The sounds of dirt crunching beneath her boots and her own ragged breathing as she marched on formed a steady tempo that echoed inside her skull. This was a stupid plan. She had to be the one to do it. No demon could step foot in the sanctified place, and neither Luke or Simeon could do it or they would be considered traitors to their own realm. So that left her and Solomon to close off the naturally occurring portals. 

With a grunt, she hoisted the pack higher up her shoulder and continued her march. Goddamn, she was going to melt unless she got into the shade of the temple ahead soon.

When she finally reached the carved stone doorway, her shaking hands dug into her satchel. One hand clutched a bound bundle of dynamite. Not your average TNT, but something Satan had specifically cooked up for her. Something about dimeritium, but she wasn’t sure about the specifics. What mattered is that the portal would be inoperable.

In the central chamber of the place she dropped her heavy bag and got to work. She hid the explosives in alcoves carved into the stone walls. When she finished, she sat down and waited. 

The sun came back overhead and casted shadows through the cracks in the ceiling, marking the hour. She double checked the clock on her D.D.D. Solomon was nowhere to be seen. He was late and something in her gut told her something was wrong. 

It was then that she noticed the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The air in the room shifted, it fizzled and cracked the way teleportation spells did. 

It didn’t feel like Solomon’s though. Long familiar with her teacher’s use of teleportation circles, she would recognize his signature magic anywhere. She swore under her breath and dove behind the remnants of a pillar as the room was engulfed in a flash of brilliant white light.

Then there were the tell-tale clicks of footsteps on the old, cracked tile floors. “Come out,” a familiar voice called. Luke called her name and repeated the request. But something was wrong, very wrong. His voice sounded stiff, like the words were being pulled from him as a ventriloquist does a puppet. 

“Luke?” she asked, calling out into the room against her better judgement. He wasn’t supposed to be here, that wasn’t part of the plan.

“Ah, there you are.” Another voice responded, appearing next to her in the blink of an eye. Their voice warped and warbled their words, as if coming from multiple vocal cords. 

There was a time, back before she found herself summoned into the Devildom for the first time, she thought that angels would be beautiful. “Angel” conjured images of renaissance portraits and baby-faced cherubs. But that was before, now she knows the truth. Simeon’s glamour had made him beautiful in an otherworldly sense; but Angels true forms are terrifying and awe-striking in their raw power.

The being before her has several faces stacked side-by-side along their head: a lion, a ram, and something vaguely humanoid. Their halo is a crown of light, so bright it hurts to look at and leaves sun spots in her vision when she blinks. Their wings are not just aligned with feathers tipped in gold, but dozens upon dozens of eyes peak out at her through their plumage. There are more eyes along their arms that blink and focus on her, so many it makes her skin crawl. In their hands currently they hold a spear, the metal tip of which is white hot with radiant energy.

“Oh, it’s the other one,” the angel says with something close to disappointment. Their hundreds of eyes blink down at her, almost in disbelief. They weren’t expecting her. It’s in that realization that it dawns on her that the angel before her was sent to deal with Solomon.

She hears another pair of footsteps in the chamber. Another being steps out from beyond the pillar and though she does not want to take her eyes off the angel in front of her, she looks to see who else is in the room with her. “Luke?” She asks, eyes widening in recognition. He wouldn’t have betrayed her, would he? 

Luke, still in human glamour, says nothing. It’s then that she sees the bangle, tight and cutting into the skin of his wrist.

A sword materializes in the angel’s other hand. They hold the hilt out to Luke, who takes it almost robotically. “Luke, you’re still in training. But I think you’re capable of handling this one.”

“Luke,” she repeats. She watches as his small hands close around the hilt. How he holds the blade pointed at her. “Don’t do this.” she quietly pleads, beginning to walk backwards.

But in the time it takes for her to blink, Luke has crossed the distance and taken a swing at her. He’s so fast, impossibly fast. She barely manages to dodge his first swing, she blinks and his backhand nearly disembowels her. “Luke please!” she ties in vain. 

The other angel watches as they move back and forth. Watching as she does everything in her power to duck and weave and avoid the blade. “I heard you were the sorcerer’s apprentice. That you received the Ring of Light. Don’t tell me running is all you’re capable of doing.”

She wants to scream her frustration at the angel. Curse their cruelty for having Luke fight against her. 

A moment's distraction is all it takes. Luke knocks her to the ground. Time slows to a crawl. He raises the sword above his head and brings it point down at her. It would’ve pierced her chest if she hadn’t tried to roll at the last second. Instead it pierces her shoulder. The blade burns and she cries out in pain. But looking up at Luke she can see tears in his eyes.

He’s still in there.

It’s enough for her. She claps both hands around the blade, ignoring how it burns the skin of her palms, and begins to mutter the first spell that comes to mind. “Spirit of the wind, I command you! Arise, string out from the darkness, and bind the angel before me!”

The air around them shimmers. Spider webs materialize, shooting out and anchoring to the pillars and walls between them. Luke is caught, wrapped and immobile in her web. He hangs there like a rag doll, tears rolling down his cheeks, as she removes the blade from his hand and pulls it free of her shoulder. 

“Disappointing,” the other angel sighs. Each of their steps echos on the tile floor as they approach. “I hoped he would’ve been enough for you. That you wouldn’t attack an old friend.” 

She holds the blade in her hand, pointed at the angel. She has no idea how to use it. She knows there’s more to swords than just sticking people with the pointy end. This is an opponent they sent to deal with Solomon, how is she supposed to have any hope of winning? 

She knows one spell that might save her here. It’s not intended for angels though. But it’s better than nothing. 

“The rites of banishment are ancient and powerful,” she begins.

The angel is beside her in a second. Faster than her mortal eyes can register, the sword is flung from her hands. She stumbled backward, grappling for a thought. For a plan. Her heart thudding in her throat, damn near suffocating her. Fear grips her as she watches their arm, the one gripping the spear, wind back.

In the brief moment before impact there is the terrible anticipation. Then there is the far calmer sensation of acceptance before the tip pierces her between her ribs. 

It hurts, the blade burns where it is embedded in her flesh. It burns so unnaturally, like her soul is being ripped apart and burned up within her. Is it the pacts, her connections, that the sanctified blade burns in her? Is that why it hurts so much more than she knows it should?

There is a scream ringing out into the room. Hers? Unlikely. She would’ve felt the raw scrape of it in her throat as it tore out of her lungs. Though right now all she can feel is the horrible lick of heat inside of her where the metal blade is.

Luke crashes into her, pulling her away from the other angel. “Set the bombs off!” Luke shouts. 

But she can’t do that. Luke will get caught in the blast. He’s still a fledgling angel, it’ll kill him; this much she knows for certain. She tries to say as much. “Do it!” Luke insists. The other angel’s multitude of eyes narrow at the two of them. 

“Now how did you possibly -” they say before their thought ends abruptly.

“Spirit of flame, I command you! Emerge from the embers of darkness and light the fuses around me!” she found herself summoning the strength to say. The words and magic pulled from her being even as she struggled to breathe. “I command you!” 

Before the shimmers of heat and flame sparked around the room, she grabbed Luke. With the last of her strength she brought them both to the ground and shielded him with her own form. She knows she is going to die. She found an odd acceptance of it settling in her gut, but perhaps she could spare Luke. She would die trying at least. 

Luke shouted something she couldn’t make out. She felt the lick of heat and felt it then - the spark of terror of knowing you’ve come to the end, but not knowing what’s after. With the war and everything, where would she go? Would she get stuck as a ghost like Lilith had?

Then the air around her turned to fire. She wondered if it would hurt. Then she didn’t wonder anymore. 

Until minutes, days, maybe an eternity later. She opened her eyes to the smoldering rock around her. Ash coated her tongue. There was no breath to draw. Panic eluded her. She was half there, half aware. 

She thought she’d already done this part, back in the attic under Belphegor’s hand. Dying a second time, shouldn’t it have been easier?

The thought was punctuated by an awakening of her nerves: burning and screaming. Something braced her and hoisted her up. No longer with her face in the dirt, stone, and ash, she found herself under the punishing light of day. She heaved and air seared her lungs. 

Her eyes failed to focus as above her Luke turned his head. Dimly, she noticed the yelling stopped. Someone had been yelling. His features flickered, sharpened and faded, above her as she blinked a few times. She saw his mouth contorting as he seemed to shout at someone in the distance. She heard words that didn’t mean anything. Luke looked back down at her and she met eyes that spoke volumes.

She barely registered the hands that were not Luke’s. Her body was all fire and raw nerve endings. But her world suddenly vaulted sideways, and some of the fog lifted in a blinding burst of agony.

A terrible cry rang out around her, a sound of utter misery. She felt her throat go raw, and she seized up as the air scorched her lungs. Muscles spasmed and twisted, but firm hands held her shoulders down through the throes of her agony.

Her eyes could not distinguish the new shifting blurs around her. Something about their wavering shapes were comforting, some part of her mind recognized that at least.

Distantly, she recognized the screams as her own. She was running out of air and soon her cries turned into heavy sobs. Slowly she started to become aware of her surroundings. She was still on the ground, horizontal again but with her head elevated just slightly. If her nerve endings would cooperate, maybe she would’ve realized that someone had settled her head in their lap.

That was when her eyes settled on Solomon’s silver hair as he focused into her field of view, upside down and above her. She was able to recognize the terror in his eyes. His palms gently, but firmly, moved to cradle her head in his hands. She looked up at him, her own eyes full of pleading and desperation she couldn’t articulate. She felt his thumb graze softly across her cheekbone in soothing stokes. 

She could not control how openly she wept. “Hush,” he soothed, “don’t try to speak.” The words pulled another set of wracking, heavy sobs from her. Her chest ached with each shuddering inhale. 

“Can’t you do anything!” Another voice cried, high pitched and panicked. So familiar. Where had she heard that before?

Then there was a familiar set of curving horns in her field of view. Pink glowing eyes looked down at her and a pair of double wings shaded her. Asmodeus, her brain finally recognized.

Oh, everything hurt. It hurt so badly and she could think of nothing worth enduring it for. Caked with dirt and blood, writhing in a mass of burns, and a dull ache between her ribs, she begged. She begged for death. 

“Let me go,” she keened at whoever would listen. Blood pulled into her mouth and she choked when she tried to inhale around it. But no reply came to her. No promise that her request would be fulfilled. 

Somewhere close by heard the clinking of glass.

“I wish I had the courage to make it end quicker for you.” Someone - Solomon? - said above her.

In the corner of her eye she caught Luke passing something to Asmo. A potion maybe? Useless. She was sure by the way she was choking on the blood in her mouth that she couldn’t drink it. Even if they tried to pour it down her throat.

“Let me die.” Speaking hurt so fiercely, but she had to. She recognized that they were going to try to heal her. They would try to keep her tethered to this mortal coil. No, it was better to be set free. Let her be a ghost or a soul bound to the Devildom, anything was better than this continued pain.

“Solomon, I don’t even know where to start. She’s -” she recognized Asmo saying.

“Try,” Solomon hissed. But when he repeated the command, his voice cracked. “Try.” 

She was aware of the bottle being brought to her lips, of the liquid being tipped into her mouth. But she coughed and sputtered, unable to swallow it. Instead it spilled out of the corners of her mouth: blue healing glow and the red of her own blood mixing into a sickly purple. 

Those around her exchange a look, but she doesn’t need to ask. Sweet Celestial Realm above the pain was so horrible. Even among her choking, ragged breaths she pushed herself to say, “Please.” She hoped they would catch her meaning. She hoped that one of them would be merciful and end her pain.

“Solomon,” Asmodeus said, a soft reprimand. 

“Just hold on a little longer,” Solomon said above her. “The others are coming. One of them will be able to heal you.” 

She could tell by the way the pink glow in Asmo’s eyes softened to reveal his normal gradient that he was lying. She felt her demon clutch one of her hands then, even through the sting of burnt flesh she felt him shaking as he listened to her fading cries of pain with each of her last breaths.

She didn’t notice Luke settling down on the other side of her and Solomon. But she did become aware of his singing. It was soft and soothing, like a lullaby. She didn’t recognize the language, but Asmodeus did. He joined Luke, weaving a harmony together.

At first she was aware of Solomon’s trembling fingers running through her blood soaked hair. But soon that sensation faded. Soon the feeling of pain numbed out - the only blessing she would find - and she found herself moving less and less with each ragged breath.

Until her eyes went glassy, her body went still, and she was gone.

When her vision refocused, she found herself standing in the entranceway of the House of Lamentation.

“Hello?” she called, her voice echoing up the stairs. She heard a door click closed and then approaching footsteps. Good, she wasn’t a ghost like Lilith then; unable to do anything or interact with anyone.

She would tell whoever happened to be home what happened. There was bound to be more to do with the war, but that could wait.

Truly, she was home. Now and forever.

**Author's Note:**

> So the original prompt was: “I wish I had the courage to make it end quicker for you.” And thus this awful mess was born. Sorry.
> 
> I’ve had this in my drafts since early December when the Angels event dropped. So many people on Tumblr and in the Discord circles I’m in wondered if the bangles were a possible tool of war. I’m not 100% sure I buy the headcanon, but I know I can use it to fuel my own angst! I imagine that in a moment of extreme distress Luke was able to break through the enchantment on the bangle.
> 
> I’m up to lesson 38 in-game now. I’ve also seen people posting screenshots of the latest chapters and we get more spells! So I borrowed the language for use here. 
> 
> If you caught The Witcher easter egg, good for you ;) 
> 
> Also “The rites of banishment are ancient and powerful” is from campaign 1 of Critical Role. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! ♥


End file.
